


The Affair of the Lop-sided Moustache

by RosiePaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:23:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw





	The Affair of the Lop-sided Moustache

The sound of gunshots assaulted John Watson’s ears as he elbowed open the front door of 221B Baker Street while juggling one too many Tesco’s bags. Dropping the groceries to the floor, he took the stairs to the flat two at a time and burst into the living room – where he discovered Sherlock to be alone, unharmed and engaged in using John’s gun to add a moustache to the smiley face already shot into the wall.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock!” John threw himself at the detective and attempted to get hold of the gun. “Not again! Mrs. Hudson will boot our arses out onto the street!”

“No she won’t.”

“She damn well might after the last – ow!” Sherlock’s kick at John’s knee made John just that bit more determined and that bit less concerned about hurting Sherlock. With a burst of effort, he managed to get Sherlock immobilized in a secure hold. The gun was still in Sherlock’s grip, but his wrist was in John’s.

“Mrs. Hudson,” said Sherlock sullenly, “Is no more likely to evict us than you are to actually go ahead and break my wrist.”

“How far do you want to test that hypothesis, Sherlock?” John gritted. “Drop the gun.”

“I was almost done in any case. I just need to take one more shot.”

“No.”

“But it’s _lop-sided_ , John.”

John risked a moment’s glance at the wall. The moustache was indeed lop-sided, the right-hand side being slightly longer than the left.

“One more shot at the end of the left-hand side,” coaxed Sherlock, deploying what anyone else would have thought was a genuinely charming smile. Even John was not unrecognizant of that smile’s charm. He’d simply learned better than to accept it as genuine.

“Drop the gun, Sherlock.”

“ _John..._ ” 

“No,” said John firmly. “No shot, Sherlock.”


End file.
